


the fashionable thing

by mjules



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/pseuds/mjules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Arishok, Hawke is feeling like anything but a trendsetter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fashionable thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinneas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneas/gifts).



The first clue they had something was wrong was several days past Anders’s window for fixing it, but still a long time before they would’ve known if Hawke weren’t so bloody stubborn.

“I’m fine,” he'd insisted through a groan, white-knuckling the bedside table as Anders dropped the books he was bringing in from the library. “I’m fi--”

But that was when his leg had folded with a sickening crunch, and it was a good thing Anders had run across the bedroom to catch him.

Anders had seemed calm, even firm, while they got Hawke back into bed and slid a pillow under his leg so Anders could get a better feel of his knee, but his hands were shaking.

“Honestly, Hawke,” he said, breathless. “If you wanted me to feel you up, all you had to do was ask.”

Hawke chuffed out a laugh that was more pain that humor, hiding a wince as Anders pressed on either side of his kneecap. “Thought I’d spice up the routine a little bit,” he said through gritted teeth. “Give you a chance to play naughty healer with a helpless patient.”

It was a testament to how worried Anders was that he didn’t reply, and Hawke bit his lip to keep from saying something inane just to break the tension in the air. And then Anders found a spot that made his entire leg feel like water -- very painful water -- and he couldn’t talk anyway.

“Sorry, love,” Anders said, and Hawke heard the scuffle out in the hallway as Orana and Bodahn came running, no doubt startled by the wall-shaking yell. “He’s fine,” Anders told them over his shoulder, not bothering to take his eyes off Hawke’s leg.

Orana gave Hawke an uncertain look, but he smiled and nodded and waved, hoping she couldn’t tell how tightly his jaw was clenched or see the sheen of sweat that had broken out over his forehead.

“Really, darling,” he said when he had his breath back. “How the servants will _talk_.”

“It’s bad.” The furrow in Anders’s brow was so deep Hawke wanted to reach out and smooth it just to make it stop _wrinkling_ at him, and the shadows under his eyes were damn near as purple as an Orlesian smoking jacket.

“Oh I’m sure it’s the fashionable thing for all the noble families these days. Strange noises from the bedroom, nosy servants to spread the rumors through the grapevine --”

“Your _knee_.” Anders looked so weary Hawke half expected him to collapse right there. He hoped he would have the decency to avoid Hawke’s leg in his descent. It _was_ a little tender… “I didn’t -- I should have noticed before. I can help some of the pain now, but some of the damage is…permanent.”

He rested his palms on either side of Hawke’s knee, the blue light seeping out of him into Hawke’s skin, little tendrils of soothing warmth that felt nearly as good as a mouth on his cock. Maybe better, considering how much it had been hurting before.

“I can’t believe I missed it,” he murmured, almost to himself, and Hawke would have frowned if he hadn’t been milking the moment of blissful relief for all it was worth. He knew how hard Anders had worked on him after the fight with the Arishok -- not personally, because he’d been unconscious for most of it and out of his mind with fever and drugging herbs for the other parts. But Isabela had told him, and Varric, how Anders had pushed himself for days with no sleep, fingertips and lips stained blue with lyrium potions.

“Bodahn and Orana must have cleared out a whole cartful of bottles, Hawke,” Varric had said, and Isabela had chimed in, “He put me to shame, really. If he could put away half that much ale, he’d have me under the table at the Hanged Man. By the end there we weren’t sure if it was the magic, Justice, or the lyrium glowing through his skin.”

So it was no surprise that in all the fuss to keep Hawke _alive_ , Anders had missed a little injury to some place less vital than the guts the Arishok had done a damn good job of trying to tear out of Hawke’s body.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hawke said as lightly as he could, grabbing the chain that joined Anders’s pauldrons together and tugging him down to the bed, disregarding Anders’s indignant noise as he awkwardly tried to angle himself to climb over Hawke without touching his leg. “I hear it’s the fashionable thing in Rivain these days for gentlemen to walk with a fancy silver-tipped cane. I’ll be all the talk of the parties -- and just think how jealous all the ladies will be of you… and a few of the men too.”

Anders gave him a reproachful look, but it was better than the haggard expression he’d worn before, and Hawke smiled, satisfied with himself. He kissed Anders’s pout and settled himself more comfortably in his pillows.

“I’m a recovering invalid,” he said, yawning largely, “and I need my beauty rest. And I require a healer in my bed. I hear it’s expected to be the most fashionable accessory for next season.”

“I’m not a pair of cufflinks,” Anders grumbled, but he was smiling, his arm slung lightly over Hawke’s stomach. It wasn’t until he’d fallen asleep, as exhausted as Hawke had thought he’d be, that Hawke let himself rest his cheek on the top of Anders’s head, ignoring the gentle throb that had crept back into his knee as well as the one in his heart.


End file.
